Winter On The Weekend
by SecretLifeOfABlonde
Summary: What if Arthur Tudor, Prince of Wales had survived? Would everyone be happier or is the Tudor dynasty destined to go down in flames...
1. The Prince Who Was Promised

**Viva La Vida**

 _Notes: You are all probably going to hate me as this isn't an update really. This is a_ _ **prologue**_ _to the story. I haven't updated in ages due to many things: moving in to a new house, running round after my child and starting my degree at university._

 _I could promise to update more but I'm not going to as I don't want to have to break that. Instead I will reliterate that I have NOT abandoned this story and I gradually add to it if you can bear with me._

 _Please feel free to message me with any questions and I am always always looking for ideas so if you have a particular way you want this to go, let me know._

 _Disclaimer - I do not own Showtime's The Tudors or any of the characters, I do not own the actors (or Henry Cavill would be my husband!) and I do not own history._

 _* I will try to keep physical descriptors as they would be in history (although the show may have some effect on my writing)._

 _Anyway, that was the world's longest notes so on with the story, ey._

 **The Prince Who Was Promised**

 **Winchester Cathedral**

The room was boiling, the rich velvet tapesties smothered any chance of cool fresh breeze from the rainy September weather outside. The air was salty and the scent of blood and sweat seared Alyce's nostrils.

Bright green eyes gazed round the spacious rooms, searching out the solemn faces of the other indiviuals in the room. The Queen was in labour but it was too early for the baby's arrival.

Having been at the birth of more than forty-odd babes, Alyce was not adversed to the gore than was childbirth. But the thought that she was dealing with a birth of an heir made her breath hitch in her throat. As a midwife, she had seen countless premature births but there was little chance of survival. The babes were often unable to swallow their milk properly and easily got cold and sick.

The Queen's quiet whimpers were increasing in volume and Alyce could see her milky skin redden with exertion. A willowy blonde with a beautiful but aging face was sat by the bed, holding the hands of the Queen and whispering what Alyce thought was words of encouragement.

Alyce briskly knelt on the bed and lifted the silk sheets, checking the progress of the labour.

"It's time to push now. We shall stay on the bed to make sure you are comfortable. We want little pushes and if I say to stop, you must listen" Alyce commanded, her voice shaking slightly. She had decided not to move the Queen to the birthing chair that she was supposed to labour on and instead she gave her a caudle to drink.

Two ladies, in matching cream gowns to signil their roles as attendants of her Grace, paced the carpet by the bed. One was willowy and had warm blue eyes and the same golden locks as the Queen. Alyce persumed it was a relative, perhaps one of the Queen's many sisters. Cecily, she thought her name was.

The other was young and small, with heavy set brown eyes and a sad expression. Her dark hair was pulled back by a coif and her hands worried at the cross upon her neck. Alyce knew that one, she had been the one to fetch Alyce. Margaret...Margaret Plantagenet.

"Mistress Plantagent, would you take this please" Alyce directed, handing a heavy gold chalice to the teenager. Margaret's eyes searched Alyce's green ones, thankful to be given a job, her small hands clutching at the chalice containing honey wine that would be given to the babe to make them stronger.

Cecily held the golden silk shawl that the babe would be wrapped in, her lips set in a thin line.

The Queen let out a shrill shriek, grasping at her mother's hand, her blue eyes, said to be a copy of the late Edward IV's, widened in pain as she pushed with all her might.

The burning pain must have began to subside as the Queen quietened, her eyes fixed solely on the loud wails of the infant in her sister's arms. She watched as Alyce quickly checked the babe over, noting the flushed pink skin colour.

The Queen carefully watched as Margaret gave the babe some of the honey wine and Cecily quickly wrapped the infant in the golden shawl and held the child closely to her. She barely noticed Alyce's massage on her aching stomach or the passing of the placenta. As her ladies slowly got her up, switched the sheets for clean ones and changed into a simple cotton shift, all she could focus on was the pink, squirming bundle in Cecily's arms.

Cecily stepped forwards, smiling widely at her older sister as she passed over the infant. Alyce was in the corner checking the placenta over.

"Your Grace, meet your son", her mother's voice rang out, cutting through the silence in the room.

Elizabeth's heart soared, she had done it. She had safely delivered England's heir, a son who would help heal the rifts of his father's country. The babe was tiny, much like a doll, and he was early but he was healthy.

Elizabeth admired the tuft of matted red hair on his head, his tiny fingers that clutched hers, his rosebud lips. She felt her breath hitch as his eyes opened, all squinty as he peered at her. He had the same sea blue eyes as her husband.

Elizabeth tenderly stroked her son's cheek, delighted as he began quidding. Softly she whispered, "Arthur, my dear Arthur".


	2. But We Were Only Just Beginning

_Disclaimer - I do not own Showtime's The Tudors nor do I own Britain's vast history._

 _This is not a new chapter, it is simply a re-written version of the previous one. Sorry to disappoint. I'm hoping to post a new chapter by Friday but that is depending on whether my internet is installed by then (as you know I have moved into a new house)._

 _Notes - 1) I use the term 'Your Grace' in reference to the King and Queen. This is due to the fact that it was Henry VIII who began to use the phrase 'Your Majesty'._

 _2) I am not catholic so I do apologise if my writing of catholicism is incorrect. I am MORE than happy to edit this chapter to make it correct._

 _3) Again, the chapter is short. I find it easier to write short quick chapters as that's all I have time for._

 **But We Were Only Just Beginning**

 **2nd April 1502, Ludlow Castle, Shropshire**

Her eyes stung, the salty tears irritating them. Her throat burnt with the sobs she held in. Her lips moved swiftly, the latin flowing easily.

She was in pain, her knees screaming out after so long in the same position, on the cold hard stone slabs. Her pretty blue eyes were red rimmed and bloodshot, no doubt sore and heavy with tiredness, but trained determinedly on the large statue of Mary, mother of Jesus.

"Please, I beg of you, Holy Mother, to extend your heavenly protection to your faithful servants here on earth. Please help my husband".

Catalina's hands worried the worn wooden rosary as coughs racked her body.

"Infanta, please, you are still sick. It has been too long here, too bad for you" pleaded her lady, Maria de Salinas, her arms wrapping a heavy silk blanket around her mistress. She gently splayed her hands against Catalina's forehead, anxiously testing her temperature.

"Infanta, too warm", Maria's face was ashen with distress, eyes searching her mistress's tired face. Cautiously she brought her hands to Catalina's and entwined her fingers with that of her mistress'. Gently she began to pull Catalina up.

"Non, I must continue praying for my husband" Catalina bit at her lady in sharp Castilian. Why couldn't Maria understand? What was once a marriage of politics had blossomed into love. They had shared so much, planning their England together.

She had told him of the beauty of Alhambra, the place where she had grown up. She told him of the way the tiles had glimmered in the hot Spainish sun. She had told him of her sisters, the crusades against the Moors and her saintly mother. In turn, Arthur had shared his knowledge on England. He told her of the dastardly deformed pretender, Richard, who was so evil that he had murdered his own nephews and enslaved his nieces. He told her of his grandmother's plotting and how his father had won his crown on the battlefield and married Old King Edward IV's beautiful eldest daughter. He had spoken at great lenght about his siblings: the pretty and proud Princess Margaret, the sunny but spoilt Prince Henry and sweet infant Mary. He had shared with her his dreams of a new Camelot with her as his Queen 'Catherine' by his side. But there was so much more that Catalina wanted to know, so many more times that she wished to learn him.

"Infanta, their Royal Graces are here...Shall I inform them that you are not well enough to see them?". Dona Elvira, Catalina's duenna, interrupted her thoughts.

Catalina's head lifted, "No, I will greet them in the Great Hall".


	3. This Is The End Of Us

_Disclaimer - I do not own Showtime's The Tudors nor do I own History._

 **This Is The End Of Us**

 **2nd April 1502, Ludlow Castle, Shropshire**

"Your Graces" greeted Catalina, delicately dipping into a slight curtsey. She was dressed somberly in black, her gown modest, her auburn hair unadorned. Her tired blue eyes carefully watched her in-laws.

Elizabeth looked like any mother would, terrified. For the first time since Catalina had met her, she did not look like a Queen. Her hair was mostly hidden by her blad steeple shaped gable hood, although golden-red strands escaped the headdress, betraying the fact the Queen had rushed here without taking care of how she looked. Her thin lips were drawn into a tight grimance and her eyes were bloodshot.

Arthur's father, Henry, stood tall, one hand holding Elizabeth's, unashamed of their public display of affection. He was in black and he looked exhausted. His small sea blue eyes, so alike Arthur's, were red-rimmed and decorated by heavy dark shadows. His dark hair was flat and greasy. He looked as though Arthur had already been pronounced dead.

"Catherine, we are going to the Prince's room. Are you coming?" inquired King Henry, his voice betraying his impatience to his his favourite child, the child he had such high hopes for, the child who was now dying.

"Yes, I wish to see my husband, they had quarantined us" said Catalina, her voice ringing out, sounding much stronger than she, herself, felt.

Following the King, who was comforting his tearful wife, she found herself worrying about what would come of her if Arthur left her here alone. She knew it was selfish but she couldn't help herself.

Suddenly she came to the strong oak door that guarded Arthur's room. She saw the physician walk up to the King and heard him talking but she couldn't understand what he was saying. His English was far too rapid for her to follow but she heard Elizabeth's sob and she guessed the worst.

"Arthur's dead. He left me. He promised me we'd rule England together".

They had spoken long into the night about the way they wanted to run their court, their England. They had even picked out the names of their future children. Catalina had wanted five but Arthur had wanted six like his own parents. They had agreed on six: three strapping Princes and three beautiful princesses. The boys would be Arthur, Henry and Ferdinand, The girls were to be Isabella, Mary and Katherine.

"Arthur, you can't leave me here alone" she felt herself whisper.

"Catherine, wait here. We shall call you in in a moment" Henry said, his hand squeezing her shoulder comfortingly.

Catalina nodded, numbly. She felt empty. Arthur was dead. She was alone.


	4. It's Not The Same Anymore

_Disclaimer- I do not own Showtime's The Tudors, nor do I own history._

 _Notes - I am glad to see you all enjoying it so far and hopefully long may that continue. However, a few people have commented on the lenght of my writing. I am sorry to say that I can't promise long chapters._

 _I am very busy: with running a household, looking after my son, studying and completing my my degree. I will however, try to update more. Hopefully that will make the short chapters more bearable?_

 _Anyway, onwards we go..._

 **It Isn't The Same Anymore**

 **6th May 1502 - Ludlow Castle, Shropshire**

It had been over a month since that awful day in April although the memories still chilled Catalina to the bone. To everyone's great surprise, Arthur had clung to life and pulled through. Although the Physician, a stern man with clever eyes, had said there wouldn't be any lasting effects on the royal prince, Catalina had noticed her husband wasn't the same.

He often stayed in bed longer in the mornings, he found reading by candle light gave him blinding headaches, that he couldn't ride for long periods of time anymore. He seemed more frail, his skin remaining a constant pale shade.

Catalina had rushed back to the Physician time after time but all he would say is that Arthur would take time to recover and gain his strenght back.

The worst part of it all in Catalina's eyes was that he had taken to her bed since the illness had struck. He was loving and affectionate but he always claimed to be too busy at his privy council or that he was too tired.

It hurt Catalina, she longed to prove her worth to her new family and she could only do that by producing an heir. Every fortnight or so, letters would come flooding through the gates; mainly for Arthur but some for Catalina. She knew some where due to arrive today.

"Infanta, Letters" Maria de Salinas came into the room, clutching the mail. Her face looked stressed and Catalina knew her own expression matched Maria as she took the small bundle and placed them on her vanity table. She knew what they would say.

 _'Catalina, Duenna Dona Elvira has told me you are still not with child. It is imperative that you fall pregnant soon or else the whole alliance could be ruined'._

 _'Catherine, I was always told that eating avacodo was very good for helping you to conceive'._

 _'As Princess of Wales, it's important that you do your duty and provide England with an heir. My son's physician has recommended that you avoid horse riding in the mean time in case you damage the child should you fall pregnant'._

Catalina sighed unhappily, looking at herself in the mirror. Her pretty blue eyes stared at her reflection, taking in the dark circles under her eyes and the way her auburn hair fell around her face.

"Infanta, we need to go. The prince is waiting for you so we can leave", Duenna Dona Elvira Manuel's stern voice interrupted Catalina's musings. Catalina nodded, smoothing down her red velvet gown before pulling the heavy Gable hood onto her head. She smiled carefully at her duenna, her hand clutching the cruxifix round her neck.

"It's going to be okay"


	5. A Dustland Fairytale

**Viva La Vida**

 _Disclaimer - I do not own history nor do I own Showtime's The Tudors._

 _Notes - Two updates in one day! Aren't you guys lucky!_

 _To address my guest reviewer who kindly reviewed saying 'Poor Catalina... and poor Anne if Jane Seymour is important enough in this story to warrant her name being included in the tags..'. I would like to reassure you that both Anne Boleyn and Jane Seymour will feature in this story and both will play important roles so you need not worry. I was just focusing on Arthur and Catalina at the moment because Anne and Jane are both very young/not born yet (going by their birth dates). However, I've messed around with the ages for this AU so they will appear soon!_

 _I would also say that I have messed around with some dates that titles were granted in. The Sheriff of Kent was granted to Thomas Boleyn in1511 and 1517. The Sheriff of Wiltshire was granted to John Seymour in 1498-1499, 1507-1508, 1518-1519 and 1524-1526._

 _Anyway, I hope you all enjoy!_

 **A Dustland Fairytale**

 **11th May 1502, Richmond Palace**

Arthur sat in the bay window, looking out at the clear blue skies, a small book on philosophy in his hands. He felt so envious that he wasn't outside riding his beautiful chestnut mare with his friends. He felt so weak, all the time, as though a light breeze would knock him down for good.

He spent hours praying for his strength to return, praying that he would have the energy to be with Catalina intimately. She pretended it didn't bother her, but Arthur could see her disappointment in her eyes when he went to bed alone again.

His blonde hair fell in front of his eyes and he pushed it away in annoyance. He heard the door of his chambers creak open but he didn't turn around. He knew who it was, he could smell the faint perfume fill the room, the fresh scent of pomegrante.

"Catalina" he smiled softly, turning towards his wife.

She stood proud, her blue eyes bright, her cheeks a rosy hue, a smile playing on her lips. Her gown was a gorgeous rich blue which matched her eyes.

"My husband, we don't wish to be late to the hall".

Arthur nodded in agreement and took his beloved's hand, guiding her through the drafty hall of Richmond.

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Today was an important day. Today was the day that lands and titles were granted to those loyal to the crown. King Henry had always understood the importance of rewarding those who were loyal.

King Henry sat on the throne, his clever blue eyes narrowed, his lips thin. The gold crown sat proudly on his dark hair and a list of names rested in his slender hands. On his right, in a smaller throne, sat his wife, her hand in his.

Elizabeth of York was dressed in a stunning purple gown, her eyes kind and a small smile on her lips. At 36, she was getting past the age of child bearing which gave her more time to focus on the pleasures in her life: gambling, listening to music and spending time with her children. The plumpness of her figure was noticable now, multiple pregnancies having taken a toll on her beauty.

On his left, stood his mother.

Margaret Beaufort was a clever woman, cunning but careful. She had been thrusted into prominence when her only child had won his throne. She enjoyed the gift of power. In her hands, sat her book. The book recorded everything of importance, Margaret thought it was important to document everything from the births of the royal children to the lands granted to the nobles to the rules of childbirth.

His children stood by his wife, showing the strength of the family Tudor. Arthur was dressed in navy, a fur coat draped over him to keep him warm. He still looked slightly frail but the Physician had said to expect that. His pretty little wife, Catherine, stood by him, whispering sweet nothings.

Margaret, his eldest daughter, was a beautiful beautiful girl with her sea blue eyes and red-gold curls that were currently adorned in pearls. She was tall at 13 and slender. She was betrothed to King James of Scotland and Henry knew James would be lucky to have his Margaret.

Henry, or Harry as he perferred to be called, was a handsome boy. Tall and strong with golden red hair and a charming smile. Elizabeth was adament that it would be wasteful for him to enter the church. His mother had disagreed, stating Henry was far too jealous to be allowed to remain as a powerful Duke.

Little Mary was still a babe and was not yet important to Henry. She was too young to be at all interesting to King Henry although the Privy Council had began to scout for betrothals for the infant.

Henry smiled, Elizabeth had been a good wife and had provided him with his beautiful and clever children. Arthur was going to be a brilliant king. He was clever and kind, brave and just. A true Tudor. England would be safe in his hands. His eyes flashed to little Harry and he knew God had been good in saving Arthur. Harry would never be a good king. He was jealous and passionate and selfish, much too like the Old King Edward, his grandfather.

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"Papa, when are we going in?" whined Mary, her caramel eyes scouting the room filled with nobles and gentry. Most families were there, with their children in tow, eager to see if they would be recognised by his Grace for their service to the crown.

"Mary, we will be going in soon. We must wait for the King to ask us in" answered Thomas, straightening out his doublet.

He was hoping to be sent to France as a diplomat, especially as he had been forging relationships with those in positions of power. He knew King Henry was hard to please though and was likely to pick a more experienced courtier even if Thomas was sure he would be the best fit.

He looked to his wife, Beth, who was still as beautiful as ever, despite having given birth 14 weeks ago. Her pretty caramel eyes, the same as Mary's, shone with pride and she smiled lovingly at her growing family. In her arms lay a squirming bundle with a tuft of dark hair.

Little George, only 3 months old, was proving to a delight. Quiet and curious, he seemed a lot like Annie.

At the thought of Annie, Thomas startled. Where was his precocious daughter?

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"That's a pretty dolly you have there. What's her name?"

Jane looked at the small girl in front of her in shock, red flushing her cheeks. She clutched the tatty doll closely to her as she studied the dark haired girl.

"That's Suzie", Jane heard her older brother answer for her, his hand resting reassuringly on his little sister's shoulder.

The dark haired girl smiled, her white teeth bright against her sallow skin.

"That's a nice name. Mine is called Nan" she stretched out a doll in a silk gown.

Jane smiled at her nervously, her hands worrying the yellow fabric of her new gown.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Edward and this is my sister, Jane. She's very shy. Over there is my brother, Thomas but he's stupid", Edward paused and looked to his father, who apparently had not heard the insult. "And that girl in Mama's arms is Lizzie, she's only two and that baby in our Governess' arms is Dorothy. She's a newborn".

The dark haired girl grinned, even more widely, her dark eyes eagerly drinking in the surrounds.

"I'm Anne Boleyn. I'm three".

"Annie, there you are. Come over here now" called Thomas, gesturing to his young child. His eyes met with John Seymour's and he glared at him, daring him to mention his wayward daughter's wandering.

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The hall was a lot larger than Edward could have ever imagined and it was decorated in cloths of gold. On one side sat a group of musicians, softly playing tunes. At the top of the hall sat the royal family.

Edward stood closely to his father, holding Jane's hand who was even more nervous than usual. He wanted to impress his father with his maturity. At the age of 7 and as his father's heir, he knew it was his duty to make a good impression.

Suddenly he heard a name being called and a group moving forwards. He could feel his father's excitment. According to his Governess, this was a big deal for his father and if he was granted a title then father would have more money and Edward would hopefully be given a tutor of his own.

"Thomas Boleyn"

Edward's eyes stared at the man who had looked at his father with such disgust as he sweeped himself and his family forwards and into a deep bow. He couldn't really work out what was being said as he was too busy looking for Anne. He could see an older girl of 5 or 6 who was dressed in a rich gown of rose pink and he could see a woman clutching a baby but he couldn't spot Anne.

"Thomas Boleyn of Hever" the deep voice of the King's secretary, Oliver King, boomed, "The King has decided to make you Sheriff of Kent...and grant you the position of ambassador to the Low Countries".

Edward didn't hear Boleyn's response but from his father's tutting, he guessed it was some slimy answer.

As Boleyn walked past them, he noticed little Anne by her father's side and when her eyes met Edward's, she gave him a little wave.

"John Seymour".

Edward followed his father forwards, clutching hold of little Jane by his side. He could see his mother dip into a curtsey and motioned to Jane to copy.

"John Seymour of Wulfhall, The King in all his wisdom wishes for you to become Sheriff of Wiltshire and has decided to increase your annual income to £20 a year".

His father thanked the King and Queen and took his children back to their original spot.

"Father, did we please the King" Edward asked, tentatively.

"Oh my dear boy, my clever Edward. We did indeed" smiled John, lovingly ruffling his son's hair. Edward mirrored his father's expression.

"Janey, it means we can get you and dolly some more gowns", Jane nodded eagerly, her blonde curls bouncing round her chubby face.

"And Margery, my love, we can get some more servants to help you round the house. Thomas, we can even afford a pony now for you to train on". Thomas cheered, joy evident on his usually sour face.

"And Ed, oh Ed, we can get you your own tutor. Maybe then you could even go to university".

Edward's heart soared.

 _God bless King Henry._


	6. Falling For You

**Viva La Vida**

 _Disclaimer: I do not own history or Showtime's The Tudors._

 _Notes: This is more of a fuller chapter to get the gist of some relationships, to look at what sort of characters are involved in the story._

 _As always, if you have any questions, feel free to message me and I'll get back to you as soon as possible._

 _I did get a question asking why I put song lyrics at the start of each chapter, the reason I do that is because it is the song I am listening to as I write. Therefore, I include it as part of a 'soundtrack' to get you in the mood *laughs*._

 _As always, I will apologise once more for my sporadic updates. I'm so sorry and I appreciate each and very person that reads my stories._

' _And if I only could_

 _I'd make a deal with God_

 _And I'd get him to swap our places'_

 _Running Up That Hill by Placebo_

26th June 1502, Palace of Placentia, Greenwich

Edward sat beneath a large oak tree, enjoying the shadow that the tree gave, giving relief from the hot summer sun. His little sister, Jane sat next to him, half playing with Suzie (who had received a new satin gown) and half listening to Edward's story that he was reading out loud. Edward looked up from his tale of King Arthur and the quest for Camelot at the loud shouting nearby. He could see his brother, Thomas, in the distance, shouting loudly and running around after three older boys. Edward squinted, his eyes narrowing to try to see who his brother was irritating now, he hoped it wasn't anyone too important as their father had firmly instructed Edward to watch over Thomas and Jane as Nurse Appleby was busy with the two babies and their mother was still recovering from Dorothy's difficult birth.

Edward's blue eyes suddenly widened with horror when he realised Thomas was tagging along behind Charles Brandon, William Compton and Prince Harry.

Oh no, he thought anxiously, knowing that if Thomas provoked the notoriously hot-headed prince then the Seymour family would be disinvited from the Prince's birthday celebrations on the 28th. Slamming the book shut and ignoring Jane's whimper, Edward moved to stand up when suddenly he was hit with alarming force.

Someone was screaming loudly, and Edward thought he recognised the voice to be Jane. Someone else was crying profusely but he couldn't quite see who as he tried not to let the tears fall.

"Eddy" shouted Thomas, hurtling towards his older brother, his playmates easily over-taking him due to their age.

"Right, Will, you go and get his father and get my father's physician. Charlie, you deal with those two" Harry commanded, pausing to point to the pair crying, "Thomas, can you go and fetch some water from the lake, so we can clean up the blood".

Edward opened his eyes again, searching for the source of the voice, his eyes falling on the Prince. He tried to speak, shaking his head slightly before turning over to vomit from the pain. He could hear Charles shushing his sister by bribing her with boiled candy.

"Harry, what's going on here?" inquired another voice, his steel eyes looking across the children, worry evident on his pale face.

"Nothing to concern you, brother" hissed Harry, irritated that his brother was going to ruin his chance of being the dashing hero. His furrowed brow lessened slightly as he looked upon his sister and then Catalina.

Arthur scowled at Harry, gesturing him to move away before kneeling down to Edward. Catalina peered at Edward anxiously, before procuring a small embroidered handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbing at Edward's face.

"What happened here?" she asked, in her highly accented English, her blue eyes looking over at Edward's bloodied nose and bruised face, before falling upon his injured arm. Edward tried to speak but he could feel the bitter bile rising his throat again, he closed his eyes, embarrassed to be seen as weak.

"It was my fault" hiccupped a gentle voice, between sobs. Margaret sat besides the young girl, smoothing back her uncovered hair and cleaning the blood from the girl's face.

"I fell on him, from the tree" she cried further, tears rolling down her face as her fingers played with her ripped gown.

Arthur turned to the smaller girl who was rubbing her eyes furiously, her lip fat from her teeth breaking it. She was laying in his sister's lap and her hand was clutching at an even smaller blonde girl.

Arthur smiled kindly at the child before him, his hand beckoning her closer.

"I'm sure this young knight here won't begrudge you".

Edward glanced at the blurry figure in front of him, before realised it was his new friend, little Anne. She was all snotty and red from crying and her lip was very bloodied and her expensive gown was ripped. Edward tried to smile at her but couldn't, his head was far too sore. He felt so very tired. The last thing he saw before he drifted off was a tall man in dark clothes carrying a heavy bag of equipment coming toward them and his father following quickly behind, worry furrowing his brows.


End file.
